Seattle 2012

I survived my fear of heights to visit the Space Needle with my daughter in 2012. That was pretty awesome.

Seattle2012-1

But the best part of the day was our visit to Chihuly’s glass garden nearby. I had never seen his work in person before. Incredible.

~*~

The Daily Prompt: Survive

Syzygy

It might be a thousand years
Before the stars
Line up again like this;
One last incandescent kiss
As the light diminishes
And five million miles of dark
Ribbon out
In a long slow
Deathless march.

Eons pass;
A glacier cracks;
Again the moon
Hangs low and blue.
Did she count the waves
While I waited for you?
The tide pulls us into alignment:
Two frozen souls
Circling
Space and time.

I’ve lain with a hundred men
And felt nothing;
Yet your gaze burns my skin
From across an ocean.
Tectonic plates shake
When we touch
At last—
Mountains collapse;
The earth splits in half.

We retreat,
Our cosmology incomplete;
Resigned to the separation,
The endless analysis and division,
The rebalance and reposition,
Until equilibrium settles over the seas.
We drift once again
To opposite ends
Of this lonely galaxy.

~*~

The Daily Prompt: Incomplete

4AM

I watch from my window
While your tail lights vanish in the rain.
The streets smearstain
Into a red and green fingerpainting,
Flickering with the traffic signals,
As fickle as your interest in me.
Blurred and tearstreaked,
The wet masterpiece
Stays illuminated
By a cold lemondrop moon.

I know I’ll never see you again.

All the frothy promises
And cottoncandy plans
Dissolve in the morning mist.
My lips still hum from your kiss,
But I feel your vague disappointment,
Your perpetual darkness
Guarded by barbedwire.

I wander outside to feed the ferals—
Two slinky shadows, silhouettes cut from coal;
Crunchy nuggets clink into the cats’ dish.
How I wish I could make a wish,
But there are no do-overs here.
I always fail with a complicated man;
I don’t respond well to the tortured genius soul
Who needs the perfect femme fatale,
A Marilyn to his Al.

I fail with the uncomplicated too.

You told me I was nothing like her,
The ex who depressed you—
I thought that was a good thing;
But now I imagine you search
For her likeness,
In hopes of recreating some sick
Woody Allen type lobster scene,
To find catharsis
And absolution.
And though I sneer and snark,
I want to play a part
In this execution.

I gaze up at that judgy stone face,
Unflinchingly—
In my disordered state:
Jammie pants, damp coat,
Tangled mass of bedhead.
“Is it something I said?”
Yes.
I ponder this relationship chess;
I might just be on the precipice
Of finally understanding
Something,
Anything,
A small piece of this
Jagged, glassy, bloody puzzle.

“Is it something I didn’t say?”
Also yes.

~*~

The Daily Prompt: Precipice

Like a Reprieve

Like a reprieve
Comes soft morning breeze;
Unwrinkled sheet between
Bisecting yet connecting
Blazing dreams
And cold quotidian chores.
A chance one more
To drift weightlessly
Aimlessly
In apricot-tinged hope—
An undemanding tightrope
Thin glimmer
Love’s gold shimmer
A carousel of birdsong
Rose-petaled dawn.
Almost here
Almost there
Hearts tossed in the air—
Suspended
Unrepentant.
One last shuddering streak
Violet periwinkle pink
Soon to dissipate
In the bright eye of day.

~*~

The Daily Prompt: Pink

Reconsolidation

Memories are like clay,
I’ve heard,
Half-formed
Into malleable birds.
Pushed together
In a mindcage
Floating on a bay
Of undulating waves,
They escape,
Mutate,
Once exposed
To the eye of day.

Those times with you—
Long ago, so few—
I check the cage,
Surprised to find
These birds
Have turned golden,
Sparkling in the dark.
Gemstone eyes
Radiate precious scenes…
A kiss in the moonlight,
Strawberries at noon.
Smiling and warm,
I close this door.

I don’t even want to know
What you recall.

~*~

The Daily Prompt: Exposed

Insomnia

There are days that go graceful,
When none of it matters,
Time ticks on easy,
Illusions stay taped to the walls.
But some nights stretch on endless
And the clocks begin melting;
Fake faces drip down to the floor.

These hours when I miss you,
When I spin in the abyss,
The air is too heavy to breathe.
Each moment rides eternal,
Every word reimagined,
Despair has shredded my dreams.

Yet the day breaks mundanely
And they form all over again.

~*~

The Daily Prompt: None

False Verse

I have two kinds of poems in the pile: those based on a truth, however faint and hiding behind paint and glitter to make it more interesting, and those based on nothing. Often the nothing verse is technically better because I wrote it in school, carefully, for a grade. One of my nothing poems that I’ve lost now was about a beach in Rhode Island, where I’ve never been, and the professor, an acclaimed poet, said it was good. When I revealed the lie (because someone said the color of the water was wrong), he laughed and gave me an A. I felt good about that back then; I don’t now. (I wish I still had that pome however.)

The reason my poetry was often based on lies/nothing in the early years is because I hadn’t done anything yet. I hadn’t gone anywhere. There was no drama in my life, no big heartbreak. The poetry professors agreed with me that poetry could be fictional; only other students thought this was breaking some rule. I never questioned my own stance back then, since the professionals were on my side. And yet… and yet…

I’ve changed my mind, at least with respect to my own work. When I reread my old poems, I immediately know which is which. The false verse is hollow and dead on the page, no matter how “good” it is. It has no emotional resonance to me, no layering. But when I read one of the truthy poems, I feel the truth again, however old and buried. I know exactly what inspired me to write that pome. Of course I don’t know what someone else would feel reading it (maybe nothing ~ maybe they’d feel more reading one of the false verse poems), but the point is that I know.

I haven’t written false verse since I began writing poetry again several years ago. No matter what I write about now, something in the pome is true, even if it’s just one line or one emotion. These aren’t just words strung together for a grade ~ they actually mean something. Also, the old pomes I poast here for my loyal blogfans are the true ones only. No false verse for you.

Happy May! ❤

Portland Memorial 2015

I’ve been a blogslacker lately and I don’t have an excuse. Today’s prompt word search brought up this photo from my trip to Oregon, and, as it turns out, it’s only a few days late for Holocaust Remembrance Day.

It was a very sobering experience to pay my respects at the memorial.

20150828_122653

~*~

The Daily Prompt: Roots

Float

Love should be a spectator sport,
Said a man who liked to float
Between my unprotected port
And his luxurious Isle of Wife—
This man taught me much of life.
Heisenberg, he named his boat:
If you tried to measure speed
He vanished
O’er the horizon;
If you tried to find him
You’d never know how fast
He traveled.
Like an uncashed check,
This man drifted,
Bank to bank,
Living off the interest
Generated by his mystery…
Until the day
I remembered
How to make my own waves
And floated off untrammeled.

~*~

The Daily Prompt: Measure

Time Pieces

My mother had some old watches and pocket watches she picked up here and there at estate sales and such, and now I have them. I tried to sell them once and was told they had no value, so I keep them tucked away. I’m glad I didn’t get rid of them after all. They’ve grown on me.

This is a plain pocket watch with no cover. It says “Waltham” on the face. This piece is two inches in diameter and feels heavy in my hand.

Time4

This is the back. It has a cool geometrical pattern/logo, but no words.

Time5

This piece is smaller and lighter, about an inch and a half in diameter, but it’s thicker and more complex, as you’ll see. This is the front.

Time6

It flips open to reveal the clock’s face sideways. “Elgin” is printed on the face. The back of the cover says “Keystone” and has a serial number (1194946).

Time10

This is supercool ~ the back opens to show gears and stuff!

Time9

Next up is a ladies’ bracelet watch. It’s very delicate and pretty. It says “Victoria” on the face and nothing on the back. The clasp says “Hadley” with a patent number.

Time1

The last is another bracelet watch, a Bulova. I like it a lot, though its face is scratched up. I might get it cleaned up and working someday so I can wear it for real. I used to wear it anyway, just for fun, but then I decided it was bad luck and stopped.

Time2

The reason this watch is so special is because it’s engraved on the back. I imagine a husband gave it to his wife for Christmas in 1947. I’ve decided he fought in WW2 and she waited for him.

Time3

My mother died today, nine years ago. I love her and miss her every day. Her voice and presence are both still right here, almost, as if she just left the room a few minutes ago. Nothing has changed in all this time.

~*~

The Daily Prompt: Timely